Heartbeats

Chapter 4

Him...

I was naive enough to think the baby would fix everything... her snide remarks, her extended getaways, the fact that she had taken up residence in the guest room. But then the baby is born and I might as well be in Australia for the amount of time I'm allowed to invest in her life. Sure, there are moments where everything feels right, but those are fleeting.

"I've hired a nanny," she tells me one day, casually like I probably don't care anyway. "She seems nice enough. Good references. Clean background. You and I both need to get back to our careers, so she will make sure the baby is well taken care of in the meantime."

She speaks as if the matter is settled, as if our child's fate is as comparable an inconvenience as a flat tire. I'd sooner give up my entire career than have my child raised by a stranger, but I don't argue. "Thanks for taking care of that."

~*~

When I find out she's cheating, it's almost a relief. Better that she fall for someone else than just get tired of me. I find out from her publicist of all people, a jabbery little spitfire named Maria whose sole advantage in this life is knowing all of the gossip about everyone in her inner circle so she has leverage. They had had a fight, evidently. Even then I wasn't privy to the nitty gritty details of my wife's daily life. Maria stormed over lo the house to either make amends or quit for the fifteenth time and I answered the door.

"Where is she?" No niceties, no small talk. Fine with me. "Out for brunch with her boyfriend?"

For a split second, I thought she was joking, not because it was all that unbelievable but because she was just that type of person. When her face held its severity, though, I knew she was serious. Probably because she was still ridiculously upset, I had convinced Maria to sit down for a cup of coffee and spill all the details.

It had been going on for at least 18 months. While she was pregnant? He was some sort of "wannabe hippie" who worked at a surf shop in Santa Monica. Not at all like myself or her first husband? He was a Catholic turned Hindu. Was that why she had taken to eastern art and culture? They did brunch every Thursday morning at a local dive down the street. Maria made sure to tell me that she had booked the reservations.

"He makes her feel free..." Enough.

"If she's so happy, why hasn't she left me? Why hang on to the fragments of our relationship when could have something so much better?"

Maria bites her lip, suddenly and decidedly silent in a conversation she has otherwise intentionally dominated.

"Listen, you're officially toast when she finds out you spilled your guts anyway. You might as well tell me." It seems to level with her.

"She still likes the idea of you. And she certainly doesn't want to share with you-know-who."

Her...

He shows up at the doorstep with a suitcase and a baby and the only thing I know to do is invite him inside. He looks weathered like he fought one too many battles today and didn't manage to win a single one. I opt not to ask any questions for that very reason, respecting the fact that I gave up that right long ago.

"Sorry," he utters after I offer him a glass of tea. "It didn't occur to me that this place might be occupied. I just needed somewhere to go and ended up here. I can... I'll just change the baby and be on my way."

His entire universe is off balance and I wonder whether or not I should do my due diligence and try to right it again, but the open wound still brandishing its way across my heart tells me to stay guarded. It's too big of a risk.

So I turn the light on for him in the bathroom and ask if I can get him something to eat. He doesn't respond, but I make him a plate anyway, and when he emerges from the bathroom, he sinks into the kitchen chair and devours Atlanta's best takeout like he hasn't eaten all day. We don't speak at first, so I busy myself by extracting the chubby toddler from his lap and cleaning the kitchen.

"Thank you." He speaks. "It's been a really long day and I know this probably has to be the strangest possible way you could have imagined spending your Saturday night, but I'm more grateful than you know." His daughter babbles on my hip as if in agreement.

When he doesn't make a move to continue the conversation, I dare myself to look him square in the eye for the first time. "How long will you be in the city?" It's a safer question to ask than "What happened to you, why haven't you shaved today, and where is your wife?"

He doesn't look up at me as he responds, swiping grains of rice with the tip of his fork. "I don't know. Haven't got that far yet."

So it's true. Buried in all the words he chose not to say.

I just nod and offer him a slight smile, clearing his plate and loading it in the dishwasher. "Well it's already 9 o'clock, so you might as well stay here for the night. The guest room is all set up and this place is technically half yours anyway."

He meets my gaze for the first time all evening and in it I see nothing but deep sorrow. He doesn't even put up a noble fight, just nods in affirmation. "Thank you."